


The Night Jim got Jealous

by certaintendencies



Series: The Boys Get Jealous [1]
Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: (not between Jim and Artie), Dubious Consent, Feels, Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: Artie has a rough day, but it gets better.





	1. Chapter 1

Artie's day started going downhill when his nose came off.

This was not an unheard-of experience, however the timing was less-than ideal. Artie wound up having to knock a man out to keep him from hollering to his fellow thugs, and while the man having a glass jaw was convenient for Artie's current purposes, it was still hard on the knuckles. Artie was not fond of pain. His own, mostly, but anyone else's too, if he could help it.

Artie clenched his teeth and dragged the man around the back of the saloon, cursing under his breath as he did so. The tip of his nose dangled awkwardly against his cheek, held on by a ragged strip of rubber, irritating him further.

He was going to have to get rid of this whole persona, show up as someone new and get close to a high-ranking member of the gang again, and he didn't even have his supplies with him.

Artie glanced up, noting the position of the morning sun.

Jim was due in town that evening, and Artie didn't have any intelligence for him yet. Nothing worthwhile anyway. Artie knocked an empty pickle barrel over and stuffed the unconscious man inside. Hopefully he wouldn't wake up any time soon. Hopefully he wouldn't remember being socked in the jaw.

Artie's mind worked furiously. He didn't have access to his makeup or his wardrobe. His best bet was to go au naturale, face-wise, and hope no one noticed the resemblance between himself and the old trapper who was about to disappear. He could cannibalize the shirt, maybe, once it had a good rinse in the stream nearby.

Artie eyed the feet of the man he'd knocked out, still just visible at the mouth of the barrel. He tugged the boots off the man's feet, wincing at the smell. The man might just be doing a smidge better, smell-wise, once he was done with his internment in the pickle barrel. He heaved the barrel back upright and set the lid back on, giving it a good bye tap and wishing the fellow good luck. Starting the next day.

Artie made his way out to a secluded stretch of the nearby stream, peeling the remaining bits of rubber off his face and tugging his gray wig and whiskers off. He found the hidden pack with his own clothes and gun and a few odds and ends at the spot he'd left it prior to his first infiltration attempt and spent some time exchanging clothes and washing the paint off his face. He scrubbed the trapper's shirt against a rock and did what he could with the pickled man's boots. They'd be a squeeze but his own boots were a bit too nice if he wanted to evoke sympathy as opposed to manipulation. His own riding pants would do once they were scuffed up a bit.

Artie peered at his face in the rippling reflection of the stream, running wet fingers through his hair. He gave a winning smile, but it quickly drooped into a frown. He swatted the cold water with the back of his hand and stood up from the bank of the stream, hands on his hips. 

He didn't like going into a situation naked. There was something about being in disguise that made it easier for Artie to be brave. He could trudge into a den of thieves as a shambling old postal worker with far more confidence than he could sneak around the outside of it as himself. 

But needs must.

He tucked in his damp shirt and fiddled with his waistband, deciding he'd like to wear his belt.

His backstory percolated on his walk back into town. Stopping occasionally to add artistically placed scuffs or streaks of dirt to his ensemble, he paused just outside of town, resignation slumping his shoulders. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to be injured.

He trudged into town a little while later with a growing knot at his hairline and blood trickling into his left eye. He wiped at it, smearing it liberally.

Stumbling into the saloon, Artie set a vague route towards the bar and one of the ladies that was a special friend of the head henchman of this particular gang.

He was intercepted.

Of course he was.

"You alright, friend?"

Artie looked up at the man who'd stopped him. The tall, broad man who was holding onto his upper arm with a firm grip, and had a surprisingly genuine concerned look in his eye. 

"I uh, I had a little trouble with my horse," Artie said, leaning into the man. "And a man who wanted my horse more than I did." He let himself be led to a chair and settled into it. Maybe things were looking up. He'd bumped into the boss's brother. By all previously noted accounts he was a decent, intelligent man whose continued presence in the town nobody Artie had managed to talk to could really parse, beyond perhaps an earnest desire to save his brother's soul from eternal damnation. Not that such a thing was possible. Perhaps he was an optimist, Artie pondered, as the man in question brought him a whiskey and let him take a drink before tilting his chin up and dabbing at the blood on his face with a handkerchief.

Artie stared at the rafters, bewildered at the presumption, and let the man dab. It was an odd feeling, having someone who wasn't Jim tending his wounds.

"Uh," Artie said eloquently, recalculating tactics in his mind. He met the dark gray eyes of the man. "Thank you."

"It's no problem. Go ahead and let me know if the man that took your horse shows up, would you? There's a pretty good chance he's a local."

Artie swallowed and smiled, "Have many pleasant residents here, do you?"

"Far too many," the man smiled back, and then turned his attention once more to Artie's head wound.

Artie let himself examine the man while his attention was diverted. He recalled absently that his name was Jacob. He had a square face, lengthened somewhat by a neatly trimmed beard, and brown hair, graying at the temples and attempting to curl at the ends. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to indicate a propensity for smiling. Artie figured he was handsome enough.

"I'm afraid," Artie began, after clearing his throat gently, "that I don't have any way to repay you."

Jacob looked at him, blinking as he let Artie's chin go and dropped his other hand, handkerchief fluttering.

"For the drink or for the kindness," Artie continued, feeling an odd energy as they continued to maintain eye-contact. "I was relieved of more than just my horse, you see."

"Well," Jacob said, picking up the whiskey and pressing it back into Artie's had. "A little more kindness won't hurt either of us. You can stay with me for now. With any luck, the friendly citizen who relieved you of your horse and your purse will show up, and we'll be able to persuade him to burden you with both once again."

Artie gave a mostly unaffected incredulous laugh. 

Jacob smiled at Artie. "I've got… friends who are far more persuasive than I could ever be."

"They must be formidable," Artie said lightly. "You seem awful compelling to me." Artie leaned back in the chair, cocking his head. "And you haven't even told me your name yet."

"Jacob Bennet." he said, and dragged a chair around to the same side of the table. His knee brushed Artie's as he sat. "And you are?"

"Ar-ah," Artie shifted in his chair and covered his mouth, forcing a cough, flustered at himself for almost giving out his real name. "Arthur. Arthur Graves."

"Pleasure to meet you, Arthur." Bennet's voice had deepened slightly, his smile gone infinitesimally warmer. His knee brushed Artie's again.

"Pretty sure the pleasure's all mine," Artie said, raking his fingers through his hair in a bout of unfeigned self-consciousness. He'd wanted sympathy, this might be easier to work with. Jacob's foot nudged into the boot pinching Artie's toes. Maybe not easier. Possibly quicker, though. Artie took a swig of whiskey, and then a very deep breath. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't run into you."

"Ah, but it was I who ran into you, if you recall."

"Was it?" Artie laughed. "My head is… everything's still a bit muddled."

"Do you remember what the man who did this looked like?"

"He was older," Artie decided. "Sort of scruffy looking. I'll be honest, I was probably more concerned with the looks of his gun."

"Understandable," Jacob said. "I think I may know the ruffian, though. There was a trapper in town recently who fits the description."

"Not a local?"

"I'm afraid not," Jacob shook his head. "He's likely long gone if he's acquired a horse. But I'll tell the boys to keep an eye out."

_ "Your _ boys?" Artie asked, sipping the last of the whiskey and watching a calculating look flash over Jacob's face.

"Not mine, no. I don't have…"

"Any boys?"

"Any _ one," _ Jacob specified. 

"That's a shame," Artie observed. He pushed at the base of the whiskey glass with his fingertips, sliding it across the scarred and pitted surface of the table. Jacob's fingernails, neat and clean, tapped at the glass from the other side, stopping its slide.

"Not exactly a plethora of options in a place like this." Jacob observed, voice conversational but eyes trained on Artie.

"Sometimes," Artie said, pausing to swallow and scrape at the grain of the table with a thumbnail. He shrugged, looking up at Jacob, assessing more openly. "Seems like there aren't a lot of options no matter where you go."

"Can I take you home?" Jacob asked rather abruptly. 

Artie choked on his own spit.

He wound up leaning over and coughing while Jacob patted him heartily on the back.

"I just meant," Jacob began, and Artie covered his face, feeling the flush in his cheeks get worse. "I just meant," Jacob began again, quieter once Artie stopped coughing so awfully loud, "to rest. Your head. Rest your head. Since you're… injured."

"It's fine," Artie wheezed, shaking his head. "It's, that is, my head does ache- I'd appreciate- It's very kind of you to offer." Artie glanced around at all the people who had turned to witness the spectacle he'd made of himself. "I'd love to get out of here just now, actually."

Jacob was smiling at him, grinning sort of indulgently. Artie wasn't exactly thrilled at the feelings that evoked but he wasn't in a position to negotiate. Jacob helped him to his feet, his hand lingering where it gripped Artie's forearm.

"Hey, Jeb." Jacob said, talking to the bartender while still eyeing Artie. "If that old trapper shows up, you make sure the boys keep him around, you hear?"

"Sure thing Mr. Bennet."

"Mr. Bennet?" Artie asked as he was led through the saloon with a hand held proprietarily against the small of his back.

"I'm ah, related to the owner," Jacob said, pushing through the swinging doors.

"Of the saloon?"

That brought a grin to Jacob's face as he pressed more firmly against Artie's back and steered him down the wooden sidewalk. "Of the town."

Artie was led solicitously to a place a few buildings down from the saloon. It seemed to be a boarding house or hotel of some description, though they didn't meet anyone in the entrance or on the way up the stairs.

The room Artie was taken to was uncluttered and somewhat sparse, containing only a trunk, a single bed, one chair, and a neatly organized desk.

Jacob herded Artie towards the bed, and then sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders rubbed against one another. 

"How are you feeling?" Jacob asked, and now that Artie was listening for it, the hospitality in his voice seemed to be masking something a bit less virtuous.

"Oh, fine, I suppose. My head still-mmmph!"

Artie rolled his eyes heavenward and let himself be pressed back against the pillows. 

It figured, of course, that the man couldn't kiss for beans.

He had just about resigned himself to his fate, or at least, he'd stopped wriggling away from the attempts to unhook his belt buckle, when he was rescued by a knock at the door.

_ "Mr. Bennet?" _

Bennet paused his pawing and Artie took the opportunity to take in a few deep breaths. 

"What is it?" Bennet growled.

_ "Well sir, some of the boys is sayin' there's a stranger what came into town and then up and disappeared." _

Bennet looked down at Artie and rolled his eyes. Artie smiled weakly in response, shrugging, but stilled as the man on the other side of the door continued.

_ "They're sayin' he was dressed in a fancy blue suit and he was wearin' a real clean-lookin' six shooter. They reckon he mighta been a lawman, only they ain't been able to find out where he got to." _

Bennet heaved a put-upon sigh and pushed himself up off of Artie. "I have to go take care of this."

Artie did his best to look disappointed.

Bennet trailed a finger down Artie's throat to the first done-up button of his shirt. "You stay here and… rest."

Artie shuddered involuntarily. Bennet seemed to take it as an anticipatory shiver, judging by his leer. He left after honoring Artie with one more forceful, entirely too wet kiss.

Artie laid on the bed for a moment, regrouping and giving himself a silent pep talk. Then, he got to work.

There was nothing under the mattress or the bed itself. The trunk was useless, containing only clothes and a spare pair of boots.

He was half-way through the contents of the desk when the only window in the room slid open.

"Good afternoon," Artie said, glancing up only briefly from the ledger he was perusing.

"Hiya Artie," Jim greeted pleasantly swinging a leg over the sill. "Whatcha up to?"

"Snooping. You?"

"Hiding."

Artie nodded distractedly "That's nice."

"Find anything interesting?" Jim asked from directly behind Artie's shoulder, having come quite a bit closer without making any discernible noise.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Artie handed the ledger to Jim over his shoulder and picked up the journal he'd skimmed briefly. "This room belongs to one Jacob Bennet, brother of Jonah Bennet, leader of the Bennet Gang, responsible for five train robberies in the past six months."

Artie looked up, and Jim was frowning at the ledger, thumbing through the pages.

"The contents of this desk seems to suggest that while Jonah might be the leader, Jacob is very likely the brains of the operation."

"Any idea where they're striking next?" James asked, handing the ledger back.

"Exactly where we want them to." Artie tapped a finger on one of the more recent entries in the journal. "Tomorrow." Jim leaned over Artie's shoulder to read it.

"Good goin', Artie," Jim said after a moment, patting Artie on the shoulder and leaning back. "Say, what're you doing looking like you, anyway? Weren't you an old coot when you left the train?"

"My nose fell off," Artie said, putting the desk back in order and standing up from the chair. He checked the view from the window and slid it closed again. "Now I'm Arthur Graves, normalish man with a head injury who just stumbled into town this morning."

Jim sidled up next to him and turned him gently with some pressure on a shoulder. "Lemme see that," Jim said softly, splaying his fingers over Artie's jaw and tilting his head down.

"It's fine," Artie said, letting Jim get a look at it.

"Looks nasty."

"That's the point," Artie said, lifting his chin out of Jim's grasp and moving over to the bed, sitting down with a sigh.

"So what's the plan?" Jim asked, plopping down next to him and giving the thin mattress an inquisitive bounce. He bent over, head between his legs, to peer underneath the bed.

"There's a barn just East of here that houses most of their equipment, explosives included. It's always under guard, but with a big enough distraction, one of us ought to be able to sneak in and wreak some havoc before tomorrow morning."

"Great," Jim said, straightening up with an expectant smile. "So wha-"

Artie silenced him with a hand signal, listening intently to the voices on the stairs. It was Bennet alright. Artie pushed at Jim's shoulder. "Quick, under the bed."

"Me? What about you?" Jim whispered. Artie shoved him to the floor with a grim look and scooted himself back fully onto the mattress, feigning sleep just as the door opened.

"-Only if it's relevant, understood?" Bennet was saying, voice pointed and unamused as he entered the room.

"Sure thing, Mr. Bennet."

The door closed and Artie allowed himself to blink his eyes open sleepily. 

Bennet knelt on the bed and Artie watched him with heavily lidded eyes, wondering if he could beg off with a traumatic brain injury. Bennet leaned over him and cupped his face with a hand. The difference between Bennet's possessive hold and Jim's careful touch was stark in Artie's mind.

"I like the look of you in my bed," Bennet declared, his voice deep and practically dripping with artifice. He bent down and captured Artie's mouth in a deep, probing kiss.

Artie twisted his fingers in the back of Bennet's shirt, kissing back distractedly. He was incredibly conscious of both Jim's presence beneath the bed, as well as Bennet's tendency to use more tongue than Artie was comfortable with. 

Bennet eventually began to work his way down, trailing sloppy kisses over Artie's chin and then down to his throat, which, Artie considered, actually wasn't too bad. 

He slid his fingers into Bennet's hair and wrapped a leg around the back of Bennet's thighs. He seemed to get the picture, settling in with a happy little moan. His beard brushed and tickled at Artie's neck and throat, adding another dimension to the warm, wet attentions being paid there by his lips and teeth.

"What, uh, what happened?" Artie asked, breathless despite himself. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Bennet murmured into Artie's neck. Fingers came up and started working at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. "My men have it under control."

Now that was interesting. Artie sat up a little, letting Bennet untuck his shirt. "Your men?" He asked, introducing a teasing lilt to his tone. "I thought you said you didn't have any men?"

Bennet sat back with a grin, pulling his own shirt up and over his head and shoulders without bothering with any buttons. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're the only man that matters."

Artie valiantly restrained a wince, both at the line and at the indignant poke from beneath the thin mattress. He distracted himself with the pleasing breadth of Bennet's shoulders and the hints that perhaps he was more than simply the brains of the operation.

Artie ran his hands down through the hair on Bennet's chest. It was nice enough, he decided. A bit bushy. He let Bennet push the shirt from his shoulders and press him back down into the mattress. It was an odd feeling, being smaller, being the one getting kissed and getting petted and getting held down. Bennet bit and sucked his way down Artie's throat to his chest, taking one of Artie's nipples into his mouth. Artie quirked an eyebrow at the ceiling and held onto the back of Bennet's neck. Odd, but… not unpleasant.

There came a knock at the door.

Artie yelped when Bennet growled around his nipple. He also felt a bump from underneath the bed and flapped his hand over the edge of the mattress, trying to wave Jim into submission.

"What is it?" Bennet asked, sitting back and observing Artie, who let his hand go limp over the side of the bed.

_ "Well, it's just, we thought you might wanna know, while we were searching for the lawman, we found Hezekiah stuffed in a pickle barrel out behind the saloon." _

That seemed to give Bennet pause. He scratched at the back of his head and then patted Artie on the stomach, sliding off the bed and heading towards the door.

Something smooth and cool and heavy slid into the palm of the hand Artie still had hanging off the side of the bed. It took him a moment to realize it was the butt of Jim's pistol. He rolled his eyes and gave it a little toss, grabbing it by the barrel and wiggling it, trying to hand it back.

Jim didn't take it. 

Bennet was still conversing quietly with the man on the other side of the door. Artie slid the gun under a pillow just as Bennet turned around to check on him. Artie tucked a hand behind his head and gave a little wave with the other. Bennet gave him a leer and turned back to his conversation.

He came back to the bed a minute or so later, straddling Artie and kissing him hard, rolling his hips down with a purpose. 

"Mmm," Artie said, trying not to sound too alarmed. "What's the rush?" He asked, once Bennet let him up for air.

"Change of plans," Bennet said, sitting back and fiddling with his belt buckle. Artie felt his mouth go unpleasantly dry. "We're leaving town at sunset, and that's not nearly enough time to do everything I want to do with you."

"I don't understand," Artie said, stilling Bennet's fingers with his own, struggling to sit up. "I thought your family owned this place, why are you leaving?"

_ "We're _ leaving," Bennet corrected him. "I just found you and I'm not giving you up now. We can find a new place to own, better than this dump. After tonight, we can buy any town we want." He grinned and palmed himself, highlighting certain… attributes.

Artie swallowed and flopped back against the pillows, wincing as the back of his head thumped into the thinly-padded pistol.

"You alright?"

"Me?" Artie asked, somewhat desperately maintaining eye contact so he wouldn't have to eye… anything else. "I'm fine. There's uh, just, something I need to show you."

Bennet grinned. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes, it's uh, it's right down here." Artie slid his hands down his own chest, framing his belt buckle. 

Bennet bit his bottom lip and slid down the bed, "Down here?" He teased, laying a hand over Artie's crotch. "What could you possibly have to show me all the way down here?"

"Well," Artie said, leaning up on an elbow. "I'm glad you asked." He flicked his thumb against the hidden catch under the belt buckle. Giving Bennet his winningest smile, he pushed at the intricate engraving on the buckle until he heard a click. "it's actually a small hidden compartment filled with pressurized sleeping gas."

The look of confusion on Bennet's face as it was clouded with vivid blue smoke was deeply satisfying, but not as satisfying as the thump he made when Artie shoved his unconscious form over the edge of the bed.

Jim scrambled out from under the other side of the bed immediately. He knelt on the mattress and peered over the edge at Bennet's unconscious figure. "Boy, Artie," Jim said, giving Artie an impressed look and then turning back to eye the large man on the floor once again. "You've got some guts."

"Wasn't that bad," Artie said, pleased but attempting dismissiveness. "Awful kisser, though."

"Huh," Jim said. 

Artie pulled his shirt back on and started on his buttons. Jim slid off the bed and went to the door, listening carefully before pulling it open a crack and peering into the hallway. Closing the door again, Jim turned around and leaned against it, folding his arms as he watched Artie undo his belt so he could tuck his shirt in.

"Timetable's moved up," Artie said unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, pushing off from the door and walking towards the bed. "Did I hear that right, about poor Hezekiah getting pickled?"

"The barrel was empty," Artie explained, clearing his throat and pausing the act of stuffing his shirttails into his waistband as Jim came all the way back to the bed and leaned in close to Artie. "He uh, he saw my nose come off." Artie's belt buckle clanked gently as he let go of his pants, setting his sweating palms on his thighs to try and hide the tremor in his hands.

"Oh," Jim said with a shrug. "Okay then." He slid one knee on the bed and reached with one arm, sliding it along Artie's lower back. Artie felt his heart pound erratically in his chest, confused but unwilling to break whatever mood had fallen over them. He leaned in to Jim, turning his head so their mouths were mere inches apart. 

Jim smiled at him, looking slightly puzzled, and then sat back with his newly-retrieved pistol in his hand, checking the cylinder familiarly before holstering it. "You alright?"

"Me?" Artie asked with a strangled sort of laugh. "I'm fine." He wondered if maybe he'd hit his head harder than he'd originally thought. He went back to work on his shirt, tucking it all in flat and then doing up his fly and belt.

"Say, Artie?"

"Yup?" Artie asked, keeping his eyes on his buckle as he reset the mechanism. He could feel Jim watching him, still kneeling close on the bed.

"What's it like, kissing a man?"

Artie closed his eyes and resisted the urge to shake his head. "Well," he said after taking a calming breath. "It's pretty much like kissing a woman, only if she were taller than you." He thought about it. "And stronger than you, and, uh," he shrugged, looking over at Jim. "And had a beard."

Jim digested this information with a thoughtful nod, and then stood up from the bed and went to check the door again.

Artie scooted to the foot of the bed and opened the trunk up, pulling out the spare boots, intending to swap them for Hezekiah's toe-pinchers. He felt an odd crinkle as he picked them up, though, and upon closer inspection found a piece of paper tucked in the left boot. Jim came close to read it over his shoulder as he smoothed it out.

"Well," Artie said after a moment.

"So much for brotherly affection," Jim pointed out, taking the page from Artie when he offered it up.

"Looks like Jacob was tired of playing second fiddle."

"So there's another cache of weapons," Jim read the letter closely. 

"In the old church," Artie nodded. 

"There a guard on the church?" Jim asked, folding the letter over to look at Artie.

"Not that I ever saw."

_ "Sir?" _

Artie was startled into dropping the boots. Jim whapped him on the shoulder with the back of his hand and Artie batted him away, plucking the letter out of his hands and folding it up. He cleared his throat, stuffing the letter in his pocket. "What?" He growled in a rough approximation of Bennet's voice.

_ "Well, Sir," _ the voice began hesitantly.  _ "Hezekiah's come 'round and he's saying some awful strange things about that old trapper. I think you might oughta hear this." _

Jim gave him a pointed look and Artie rolled his eyes. He sniffed and took a breath, puffing his chest out as he got into character. "I'm almost… finished, here." He winced at himself as Jim's nose scrunched up in disgust. "Go see to Hezekiah. I'll be… out in a minute."

Jim blanched and moved silently over to the window, looking out.

_ "Yes, uh, sure thing, Mr. Bennet." _

Artie joined Jim at the window.

"How long d'you reckon we've got before they come back and check on him?" Jim asked.

"Depends on how much they know about what he was up to. What they're willing to interrupt." Artie said, watching as men patrolled up and down the main road. "It didn't really seem like he was hiding anything."

"Must be nice," Jim said suddenly, and Artie turned to him with raised eyebrows. Jim shrugged. "For a man with his… proclivities. Not to have to hide."

"Guess you can do whatever you like if you own your own town." Artie turned to give Bennet a once-over. He was snoring, limbs akimbo on the floor beside the bed. "Not an excuse to do what he does, though."

"No," Jim agreed, sliding the window open and ducking through it. "Not an excuse, but maybe a reason."

Artie remained thoughtfully silent, and followed him out.

They split up once they reached the ground, Jim sneaking around behind the buildings that lined the main road and Artie attempting nonchalance as he took his chances with the wooden sidewalk along the disused storefronts, both of them heading towards the church.

Everything was going well.

A man stepped out of what used to be the mercantile, directly in Artie's path.

Everything was not going well.

"You there," the man said. He was tall and broad and had graying brown hair. Slung low around his hips was a double-holstered gun belt, and two men followed him out onto the sidewalk, attentive and weasley-looking at the same time

Artie gestured questiongly at himself, eyebrows raised. 

"I don't recognize you."

The left-most weasel took a delicate step forward to just behind the big man's elbow and cleared his throat,"That's the feller your brother was talkin' to in the saloon, boss."

Artie smiled and nodded, hooking his thumbs into his belt and trying to hold still as he was inspected. "Howd'y'do," he said, watching curiously as one of the weasels went so far as to circle him.

"My brother's a very intelligent man," Jonah Bennet said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But sometimes he can be a moron when it comes to people he's taken a fancy to."

Artie laughed despite himself. "I'm familiar with the type."

"Good. Then you won't be horribly offended if I ask you some questions that my brother no doubt let slip his mind."

"Oh no, not at all."

"Fine, fine," Jonah said, stepping forward and draping a heavy arm over Artie's shoulders, steering him back towards the boarding house. "First question," he began, "You didn't really think you could show up the day before our biggest score, around the same time as a mysterious disappearing lawman, and we wouldn't be suspicious, did you?"

"Think?" Artie said, stifling a wince as the arm tightened around his shoulders. "Not really the word I'd use.  _ Hope _ , maybe." A little bit more hope chose that moment to abandon Artie as Jacob's number one henchman stepped out of the boarding house in front of them.

"Hey," the man said, looking back in confusion through the door he'd just exited. "Weren't you just-"

The arm around his shoulders tightened yet again. Artie imagined he could feel bits of himself creaking under the pressure. He was abruptly released, ejected more like, and thrown hard up against the side of the building. The wind was knocked out of him, and he spun and lifted his hands, palms out. 

"Hey now," he wheezed. 

"If I find out you harmed a hair on my brother's head-"

"I didn't, honest," Artie said, slumping against the wall, trying to make himself small. "He's just… just asleep, that's all." He forced a breathy laugh. "Poor fella he's," Artie swallowed, "Just plumb tuckered out, is all."

One of the weasels was dispatched to authenticate Artie's claim, and Artie took a deep, calming breath. 

The breath brought with it a whiff of vinegar, and Artie closed his eyes in defeat.

"Hey!" 

A muffled thumping was heard, and Artie looked resignedly towards the source.

Hezekiah stomped towards him in his stockinged feet, lips twisted in betrayal beneath his dropping mustache. "Them're my  _ boots _ !"

Artie glanced heavenward. He was still attempting to put his prayers in order when the old church, which had, up until that point, been standing watchfully and silently at the far end of the main road, exploded.

The whole town shook, and Artie ducked instinctively, watching with wide eyes as a chunk of bell tower sailed through the air and landed in the middle of the road, shattering with a thunderous crash and sending debris and shrapnel out in a cloud of destruction. 

It began to rain splintered bits of wood, and Artie pressed himself back against the wall, crowded there by the other men who were also seeking shelter. 

A charred and smouldering hymn book plopped to the ground in front of them. 

"Amen," Artie said softly, watching the thin pages of the hymnal whip about excitedly in the wind.

Turning to Hezekiah, who was watching debris fall from the sky, Artie tapped him on the shoulder. 

"What is it?" Hezekiah asked fearfully.

"I do apologize," Artie said.

"For the boots?"

"Oh yes, that, too."

Hezekiah had time to widen his eyes in shock before Artie's fist made contact with his jaw once again. He spun around almost gracefully, leading with his chin as he landed in a heap on the remaining weasel. 

Artie used the ensuing confusion to draw one of Jonah's pistols and cock it, backing away from the scuffle and digging in his pocket with his free hand.

"Now listen!" Artie addressed Jonah, who had a palm on the butt of his remaining pistol and murder in his eyes. "I gotta tell you some things, and you're not gonna like em, but they're the truth."

"Spit it out!" Jonah growled, sounding disturbingly like his brother.

"Firstly," Artie said, drawing the crumpled letter from his pocket. "Jacob is a horrible business partner." He tossed the letter to Jonah, who picked it up and smoothed it out, skimming over it. Artie continued, feeling a pang of sympathy as he watched Jonah realize what betrayals the letter outlined. "But he's an even worse brother."

Artie knew he should stop there, but felt a great need to unburden himself. "He's also a real bad kisser." He shook his head sadly as Jonah looked up in confusion. "Just, real, real bad."

Another explosion rocked the town, this time from the opposite direction. Artie didn't wait for the debris to start falling, he simply ran.

Jim found him a little ways outside of town. He rode up alongside Artie, a triumphant grin on his smudged face, and reached out. Artie gave a breathless laugh, grasped Jim's arm while running awkwardly in Hezekiah's terrible boots, and leapt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I told you that story so I could tell you this story.)

Artie let Jim handle telegraphing the pertinent authorities and organizing a round up of the Bennet Gang, divided as it most certainly was.

He went straight to the tub and filled it with the hottest water he could stand.

He struggled with the boots, finally removing the second one with a Herculean yank, and took the time to open a window, tossing them off the train entirely. He was disgusted, for the time being, with the very notion of boots. 

Disrobing, he stepped over the edge and settled down into the copper tub.

The sigh he heaved was monumental, though completely warranted, and he rested there for a few long moments without moving a muscle, just letting the stresses of the day evaporate. He imagined they left him in the same manner as the steam that rose up from the water and his wet skin, dissipating into the ether. 

Artie had completed his meditation, and was scrubbing merrily at his knees when Jim entered from the kitchen in his shirtsleeves.

"Hiya Artie."

"H'llo," Artie replied pleasantly, ringing soapy water out across his chest and mopping at it absently with a rag. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe," Jim said, settling down on a stool next to the tub. He rolled up his sleeves and held out a hand. Artie plopped the rag into Jim's palm, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his shins. 

Jim took his time scrubbing Artie's back, the strokes long and slow and soothing.

"Somethin' the matter?" Artie asked after a while, before the warm water and the slow touches could lure him into sleep.

"Just thinkin'," Jim replied.

"'Bout what?"

"I had an awful time today, hiding under that bed."

"Well being on top of it wasn't a treat either, believe me."

"Was he the only man you've ever kissed?"

Artie blinked rapidly, crossing his arms further across his legs. "You mean, outside of all-male stage productions and the like?"

"Yeah, outside of that."

"...No."

The rag slowed to a stop and then slipped down into the water behind him with a small wet splash.

"Would you mind if I kissed you, Artie?"

Artie took a deep breath and leaned back, catching Jim's eye. "What for?"

"Well," Jim said, sliding down off the stool and coming to rest on his knees just outside the tub. "Partly because I've never kissed a man before."

Artie raised an eyebrow. That was not an impressive reason.

"And partly because I think I may have been jealous, stuck down there under that bed, listening to all the things he was doing to you."

Artie pursed his lips in thought, resting his arm on the edge of the tub and his chin on his arm, still eyeing Jim. The water sloshed as he rearranged his legs. That was a slightly better reason, but he still needed more if he was going to risk his whole… Jim.

"Mostly," Jim continued after a moment, licking his lips and reaching up a hand, fingers petting at Artie's wet hair, tucking it behind his ear. "I just really, really…" He shook his head and sighed. "Artie I wanna kiss you so bad."

Artie tilted his head, feeling a bead of water trickle down his neck. Jim settled back on his knees, watching and waiting.

"On one condition," Artie decided. 

"What is it?" Jim asked, perking up immediately.

"I don't know, yet," Artie admitted, and he might have said something after that but it was drowned out by the sound of water splashing, and muffled by Jim's lips, which were pressing insistently against his own. Very soon after that he forgot how to make words at all, and so remembering which ones he might have said in particular didn't seem important.

Artie had a tight grip on Jim's wrists, and Jim had a firm hold on Artie's head, and their lips were doing things together that Artie figured normal people would have had to practice to get so right.

They broke apart for air after a while. Jim's eyes were wide and his lips were very red and a little shiny, and Artie remembered what words were, again.

"You're not half bad at that," he acknowledged with a grin. His fingers were still wrapped around Jim's wrists. He rubbed his thumbs across the bony knobs there. Jim was still cradling Artie's skull, and his fingernails scratched through the hair at the back of Artie's neck, making things pleasantly shivery. 

"Artie," Jim said plaintively, and his voice was almost but not quite a whine, and also the sexiest thing Artie had ever heard. He was already imagining Jim sounding that way when he begged for things, kissing things and  _ more _ than kissing things, and it was making Artie's head spin.

"I've got a condition," Artie said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Jim's and try to catch his breath.

"What is it?" Jim asked, still with that whine in his voice, that desperate hint of neediness that made Artie's blood fizz. 

"It's conditional," Artie said, not even to be difficult, but the noise Jim made, half a sob and half a laugh, made him tuck the idea away for later. He laughed and tugged at Jim's hands, curling them against his chest and holding them there. "I'm wearing… no clothes," he said, trying not to blush when Jim's gaze flickered downward. "You're wearing  _ some _ clothes," he continued. "My condition is we wear approximately the same amount of clothes, if we're going to continue."

Jim blinked at him, and then looked down to where Artie was cradling their hands against his chest, and then looked back up at Artie. And then he was there, right there, kissing Artie's lips apart and licking in to taste behind them and his wrists were tugged out of Artie's grasp and Artie swayed forward and caught himself against the edge of the tub. He pulled back for a moment to see Jim working frantically at the buttons of his shirt and then leaned back in, doing his best to kiss through a smile.

Jim yanked his shirt out of his pants, violently enough that Artie heard something rip, and Artie laughed and gave in, water sloshing out of the tub as he climbed out to press himself against Jim. The wood floor was soaked, and Artie's knees slipped through the water, bumping into Jim's as they crashed together. Jim's arms came up, wrapping around Artie's back and rubbing, stroking, holding him close, restless and wonderful.

"You gotta take your pants off," Artie urged, grunting as Jim bit his lower lip and tugged. The hands at his back slid lower over wet skin, grasping at his ass and kneading.

"I don't want to let you go," Jim whispered, nosing at Artie's cheek and then nuzzling down to mouth at the skin below his ear.

"Yeah, no," Artie said, incoherent and dazed as Jim rocked them together. "That's understandable. I get it, I, I-" He shivered and then groaned as a thought came to him. "I'll get it."

His fingers, shaking and stupid with lust and excitement, worked at Jim's fly, unhooking and unbuttoning and petting more than was perhaps entirely necessary. He shoved at Jim's pants and his drawers, pushing them down his hips until his cock sprang free and then they were crushed together. Jim's hands grasped frantically at Artie's ass, drawing them together, shocking and urgent and perfect.

"Artie," Jim cried, and that time his voice was a whine, a genuine whine, and it sent such a surge of heat through Artie's belly that he gasped. 

"This is ridiculous," Artie panted into Jim's mouth, swallowing the questioning sounds that followed. "Jim this is so - we have  _ beds _ , what are we-"

"Take me to bed," Jim urged immediately, hands patting and grasping and coaxing at whatever he could reach. 

Artie pushed himself up, standing shakily on trembling knees and reeling Jim up with him, laughing at the state of his pants, soaked through the front half from the knees down. "Come on," Artie said, pressing smiling kisses along Jim's flushed cheek and tugging him through the door, down the hall to his quarters. He shoved at Jim's pants, until the waistband slid below his perfect, pert ass, and then pushed Jim down onto the bed.

"Boots!" Artie exclaimed, frustrated at yet another incarnation of his nemesis. Jim laughed and helped him tug them off, and then Artie peeled the wet pants down over his legs, palms sliding greedily over Jim's golden, toned thighs, the soft curling hair at his shins. "You're perfect," Artie breathed, fingers tracing the shifting tendons in Jim's feet. 

Jim gave an impatient groan and grabbed at Artie's shoulders, hauling him up and onto the bed. The first full press of their naked bodies together threatened to shut Artie's brain down entirely, but he held onto his senses, burying his face in the curve of Jim's neck and breathing like the air was being wrung out of him.

"Artie," Jim whispered. Artie thought about replying, but then Jim said it again, and again, like a mantra, and Artie thought maybe actions would speak louder than words. He flexed his spine, rolling his hips down against Jim's and setting his teeth into Jim's shoulder so he wouldn't make any of the embarrassing noises his body kept telling him to make.

Jim grunted out a little half-yell, bucking beneath Artie so hard they both came up a few inches off the mattress. Well if  _ Jim _ was going to make those types of noises. Artie moaned, kissing the bitten skin under his mouth and then turning his head, hiding the sounds against Jim's jaw and his cheek and his temple as they rocked together.

Jim clutched at him, fingers and nails digging into the soft flesh above Artie's hips, drawing him down closer and harder. 

"H-hey," Artie managed to stutter out, leaning on his elbows and stroking roughly through Jim's hair.

"Nnn," Jim said, neck arching off the bed, corded and sheened with sweat. Artie tasted it briefly before leaning up again.

"I wanna try  _ -oh- _ try something."

Jim's hands slid up to grasp Artie's upper arms, and their thrusting slowed to a gentle rock as Jim's eyes slowly focused in on Artie. 

"Artie," Jim said emphatically, still working his hips in tantalizing little circles. "You talk too much."

"Rude!" Artie declared, and sucked a mark into Jim's collarbone in retaliation. He worked his way down, sucking and biting and kissing, all in between grumbles. "Talk too much -hmph!" Jim's hands played across the back of his neck and through his hair, tugging and stroking and petting in turns. "Talk too much!" Artie exclaimed again, pushing himself up to argue only to be pressed back down again by Jim's earnest touches. "Talk too much," Artie muttered, and bit at the jut of Jim's hipbone, riding out the thrust it earned him and soothing over it with kisses.

He finally made his way to his prize, looking up to find Jim staring down at him, panting for breath and eyes wide, as though he didn't quite believe it. Artie smiled at him and rubbed his thumbs along the grooves where his thighs met his torso. 

"Artie-" Jim started haltingly, curling up to reach him better.

"Ah," Artie gave Jim's hip a squeeze and shook his head. "You talk too much."

Jim's cock was straining up, jerking with every breath Artie blew out over it. Artie kept his eyes locked with Jim's as he lowered his head, tasting hot, salty skin. 

Jim flopped back flat on the mattress like his strings had been cut, groaning at the ceiling as Artie took him in his mouth. Hands stroked across Artie's shoulders and then curled into his hair, holding without pressing. Artie slurped and sucked and generally made a mess of things, watching all the while for twitches or hints that Jim liked a certain thing more than another. The biggest sign that he'd struck on something good wasn't a physical reaction, though. What it mostly came down to was sounds.

Jim's throat worked, tight with need, and small impressions of sounds, groans or moans or Artie's favorite, whines, would slip out and give something away. Artie particularly liked the low keening note Jim gave off when Artie swallowed him down as far as he could. 

He rubbed soothingly at the hard, tense line of Jim's side, muscles in stark relief as his fingers clenched and unclenched in Artie's hair. And then Artie groaned, deeply and unavoidably as Jim tugged a little too hard at his hair, sending bright sparks of sensation rolling through him, prickling at his skin.

Jim sat up with a sob, curling his torso around Artie, cradling his head close.  _ "Artie," _ he cried urgently, and Artie felt him grow harder, felt his whole body tremble. 

Artie braced himself and seized Jim about the waist, holding him tightly as he bucked and shook and shot down Artie's throat.

Artie swallowed him down, petting at his shuddering sides and gentling his harsh, overwrought breaths. He let Jim's twitching cock slip from his mouth and drew himself up. Wrapping his arms around Jim's bowed shoulders, Artie pulled him close and carded his fingers through Jim's sweaty hair.

_ "Talk _ too much," Artie tsked softly, smiling at Jim's ragged laugh. "The  _ nerve." _

Jim kissed him. Trembling fingers curled around the back of his neck, drawing him in close, and Jim pressed smiles against his lips and his cheeks and softer, careful kisses around the tender spot at his hairline, earnest and sweet. Artie swept his palms up and down Jim's back, steadying him when he climbed shakily into Artie's lap. 

"You alright?" Artie asked, once Jim settled back and he could get a good look at him.

"I'm perfect," Jim said, sliding his hands over Artie's shoulders and down his chest, making Artie shiver. "How are you doing?"

"I'm perfect," Artie assured him, laughing breathlessly when Jim's hands crept lower and wrapped loosely around his stiff cock, which, up until then, Artie had been doing a reasonably good job of ignoring. "Hah, wow, that's-" 

Jim smiled at him, gripping tighter and giving a curious tug. 

Artie may have whimpered.

Jim's smile grew wider and his touches grew more confident. He continued to squeeze and pull and twist, building a rhythm and watching Artie's face with a soft, interested expression that was somehow more intimate than the hands around his cock. Artie groaned and dropped his head, rolling his forehead against Jim's shoulder. He wondered if watching Jim's hands work his cock would be easier than looking into his eyes.

Swallowing roughly and trying not to hyperventilate, he watched himself thrust into Jim's grip. 

"What do you want?" Jim asked, his voice soft in Arties ear like a secret. 

That was simple.

"This," Artie sighed, wrapping his arms tighter around Jim and shifting closer to him. He hid his eyes against Jim's shoulder and breathed raggedly into the hot, small space between them. "Exactly this."

Jim turned his face in, pushing kisses and breaths and hums into Artie's hair. His thumb smeared at the wetness gathering at Artie's slit, slicking his movements and gripping tighter, just a little closer. 

Artie continued to struggle to breathe, feeling shivers start to overtake him in waves, beginning in his thighs and washing over him, a tide of overwhelming sensation. 

"Jim," he whispered harshly.

"It's okay," Jim said, hot breath against Artie's ear. "It's okay." A hand came up to the back of Artie's neck, gripping him and urging him back. The hand still on his cock slowed and gentled.

Artie met Jim's gaze. It was still unbearably soft, curious and a little worried. He loved it. He couldn't stand it.

"Stop lookin' at me like that,"

"Like what?" Jim smiled.

"Like anything."

Jim laughed, shifting from his spot in Artie's lap, bringing his knees up and shoving at Artie's chest until he fell back against the mattress.

"On one condition," Jim said, settling over Artie.

Artie tilted his head against the mattress. The look on Jim's face had changed. A hint of apprehension appeared. 

"What is it?"

Jim traced Artie's eyebrow with his fingertips and searched his face for something. "You tell me where he touched you."

Artie was thrown. It took him a few beats to even realize who Jim was talking about. "Jim! He doesn't matter-"

"I know that," Jim said, sitting back and pressing his hands against Artie's chest to steady himself as he rocked down.

Artie groaned and clamped his hands at Jim's hips, the drag of Jim's half-hard cock against his sparking the urgency back up.

"Then- why?" Artie panted out, pushing his fingers up Jim's torso, feeling the clench and twist of his muscles as he rolled his hips.

"He doesn't matter," Jim said, bending down and pressing a hard kiss against Artie's lips. He grabbed Artie's chin and pushed past his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, pressing in until Artie caught it with his teeth, holding it there and exploring the whorls of his thumbprint with the tip of his tongue. He watched Jim's stormy eyes, watched him blink slow and settle down. "I want him gone. I want to touch you everywhere he did and wash him away."

Artie kissed Jim's thumb and drew back, until it rested on his lower lip. "I already had a bath."

Jim bent down again, taking the lobe of Artie's ear between his lips and dragging it out from between his teeth, before whispering hotly in his ear, "Where, Artie?"

"He just kissed me at first," Artie gave in with a sigh. 

Jim moved up to look him in the eye again. "Did you like his kisses?"

"God no, he was awful at it."

"Do you like  _ my _ kisses?"

Artie smiled, thinking that Jim's kisses had very quickly become his favorite things. He tucked a hand behind his head, giving a shrug. "Eh, they're alright."

Jim, thankfully, took that as a challenge. 

Artie had been party to a goodly amount of kisses in his life, and he was, if he were to make a guess based on the sort of response he tended to get, not half-bad at it.

Jim West, Artie decided, was born to kiss.

Artie hung on to the back of Jim's neck and did his best to kiss back.

Jim pulled back right about the time Artie was considering passing out. "Alright?" Jim asked. He was flushed and sheened with sweat, and his hair was falling over his forehead in a way that Artie was having difficulty enduring.

"Possibly," Artie said, pushing that lock of hair back from Jim's forehead. "It depends."

"On what," Jim asked. The hair fell back. Artie's heart gave a fluttering pang.

"On if you're ever gonna do that again."

Jim smirked, and Artie silently willed his heart to stop skipping beats. He was almost certain he needed more of them than he was currently getting.

"Where else?" Jim asked, his thumb brushing over the corner of Artie's mouth.

"Oh, anywhere you feel like," Artie said breezily.

"Where else did he  _ touch _ you," Jim elaborated, voice going silky and dangerous, like how it got when he interrogated a less than savory character. 

Artie wasn't sure he should like it so much, but he certainly couldn't keep himself from responding to it. "He uh, he touched my throat." Lifting his chin in anticipation, Artie swallowed thickly. "Just, uh, sort of dragged his finger down."

Jim set his whole hand at Artie's throat, fingertips and thumb pressing in gently before he scratched his nails down, slow and deliberate. His eyes followed his fingers and Artie could feel a prickling heat bloom where his hand went. He wondered exactly how bad his blush looked.

Jim flicked his eyes up, his hand still moving lower, nails scraping lightly, all the way down to Artie's stomach. He stopped there, fingers splaying wide and possessive as he pressed against Artie's belly. "Where else?"

"He uh, he kissed my chin," Artie said, trying to remember but finding it difficult to think of anything but Jim. "And my neck and my throat, and-"

"And?" Jim prompted. His eyes had gone dark, as though angry at the notion of anyone else daring to do such things. His hand against Artie's stomach tensed and then relaxed, petting softly as he waited for Artie's reply.

"Lower," Artie said, bringing his own hand up, fingers fluttering lightly over his nipple. "To here."

"What else?"

Artie shook his head. "Only- only his hand," he said softly, draping his hand over Jim's, guiding it lower, until it rested over his stiff, aching cock. "Just here, just for a second."

"Artemus," Jim breathed, knocking their foreheads together and resting his lips against Artie's cheek. 

"I'm sorry," Artie sighed, nudging his mouth over until he could catch Jim's lips in a kiss. 

"Don't," Jim said into the kiss, soft and quiet. His fingers tightened around Artie's cock, starting up a rhythm. "Don't be."

He pulled his kisses away from Artie's lips, moved them down to his chin, pressing each one softly and deliberately on a new patch of skin. Artie swallowed and blinked against the sudden sting behind his eyes, trying to process the heat of Jim's hand on his cock and the cool, sweet kisses being so carefully placed along the line of his throat. 

Artie's hands clutched at Jim's back. His hips writhed, liquid heat flooding his belly. Jim continued to work his way down, peppering Artie's collarbone with sucking kisses and small, scraping nips of his teeth. His hand was firm where it gripped Artie, twisting, even pumps that worked in time with the throb of the blood in Artie's veins. "Jim," Artie said softly, his hand sliding up to cup Jim's neck. 

"Yeah," Jim whispered, lips moving over Artie's chest. 

Artie exhaled shakily, feeling shivers start to roll down his spine. His heels shoved restlessly at the mattress as his legs and hips shifted under Jim's weight. Jim closed his lips around one of Artie's nipples, humming low and pleased.

Huffing out rough, uneven breaths, Artie held onto the back of Jim's neck, holding him in place as he bit and sucked and soothed at Artie's nipple with his tongue. His skin tingled, shocks of bright pleasure shot across his skin, soaking into him and pooling with the fire low in his belly. 

"Jim-"

Jim pressed one final, ardent kiss to Artie's nipple and moved back up. He was smiling at Artie, that soft, affectionate look in his eye that Artie couldn't bear, but he was breathing roughly, too. 

Back arching, a groan tore itself from Artie's throat. His thighs trembled, hips rocking up in short, sharp thrusts. Artie turned from Jim's warm gaze, sobbed out a breath and looked down.

Jim was riding him, rising and falling with the motions of Artie's hips. His cock was hard and leaking, bumping and sliding against his wrist as he pulled at Artie's own flesh. Squeezing his eyes shut, Artie threw his head back against the mattress, grabbing Jim by the ass and bucking, upending him until he had no choice but to let go of Artie's cock and steady himself. 

Fire sparked behind Artie's eyes and in his gut and through his cock. Jim gave a high, strangled sounding moan as they rubbed together, shocking and vital. Recklessly chasing that coiled, wanton heat, Artie shoved himself up, held Jim's writhing hips against him, listened as Jim's moans turned into keening whines, sobbed into Artie's ear like he couldn't help it. 

He spent with a gasp, wet heat painting their stomachs, their chests, as he jerked and stiffened, arching up against Jim. 

Things went fuzzy.

There were kisses, sloppy and heartfelt, against his mouth and his cheeks, and then Jim leaned back, dragged his ass over Artie's still-twitching cock, and settled over his stomach. Fingers swiped through the mess spattered across his chest, and Artie blinked, eyes focusing, just in time to look down and see Jim wrap his slicked-up fingers around his cock and start to strip it, fast and rough.

Artie's throat clicked dryly, his eyes rolled up as his cock seized again, twitching helplessly. "Tryna kill me," Artie accused without heat.

"Uh uh," Jim panted, dropping forward, dipping the mattress by Artie's head as his fist sunk into the padding. His other shoulder flexed, quick and rhythmic, and Artie turned his head, bit at the cords of Jim's forearm so he wouldn't bite through his own lip. Jim latched on to Artie's bared neck, groaning into his skin.

Artie held him, dug his fingers into the muscles of Jim's back, felt him shake. He mouthed at the mark on Jim's wrist, apologetic kisses, and then turned, forcing Jim's mouth away from his neck. 

Jim rolled his forehead against Artie's, their breath mingling hotly, mouths inches apart. "I'm gonna-" Jim groaned, thighs clenching around Artie's waist. 

"Do it," Artie urged, looking down, watching the blur of Jim's hand, hearing the slick sounds of desperate movement. "On me. All over me. Do it."

"Artie!" Jim cried, going rigid and spilling over his clenched knuckles, hot wetness spattering over Artie's heaving chest.

Artie watched as Jim milked himself, white knuckled and shivering, wringing out every last drop and smearing it clumsily over Artie's skin. 

They breathed together, tucked close and watching as Jim painted Artie's chest. He let go of his cock after a few extended moments, abdomen flexing as he made himself shudder, and then pushed his fingers through the mess, occasional tremors still wracking his frame.

Eventually, he looked up, and Artie met his gaze. 

"Jim," Artie said soberly. "I  _ just _ took a bath."

Hiding his grin in Artie's neck, Jim slumped against him, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. Artie smiled at the ceiling and pet through Jim's hair, catching his breath.

"Sorry," Jim said eventually, rolling off of Artie with a groan and a grimace.

"I'm not," Artie told him, rolling to face Jim. "That was fun."

"Fun? Artie that was…"

Artie watched a few different expressions chase themselves across Jim's face.

"Yeah," Artie agreed after a moment, finding a pillow and stuffing it under his head. He settled down with a contented sigh. "It was." He grinned at Jim, hopeful. "You wanna do it again sometime?"

Jim laughed, rolling into Artie and pressing a kiss to his nose. "How about after dinner?"

"Deal," Artie agreed immediately. He looked down at the drying mess on his chest and stomach. "Might need another bath."

"Shame," Jim said, cupping Artie's jaw and leaning in for a kiss. "I kinda like this look on you."

Artie smiled, watching as Jim got up on shaky legs and made his way to the wash basin. He rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head.

Things were looking up.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated! I've just recently rediscovered my love for these guys and I'd love to have like-minded folk to talk with ❤️


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